


However Improbable

by Brate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:52:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	However Improbable

**Author's Note:**

> Vague allusion to another show.

"I'm missing something," Sherlock announced from the second floor landing.

John started, his friend's booming voice rousing him from his light doze. Sherlock had been all over the house—four times—looking for clues relating to how three people had fallen to their deaths. John had lost track of time, though he was pretty sure it was early morning, and he was due at the surgery at nine. 

He stifled a yawn. Sarah was going to kill him. 

Honestly, John didn't see what the big deal was—people fall down stairs all the time. It was odd that all three died within two months, but each of the victims had been alone in the house at the time of their demise. Still Sherlock was convinced there had been foul play, even though the ME had concluded the deaths were accidental.

After a quick glance at his watch, John opened his mouth to tell Sherlock he needed to go, when he saw the consulting detective lose his balance and pitch forward into midair.

John was frozen in place as his friend tumbled down the staircase. Sherlock hit the landing with a sickening thump, and John's immobility vanished. His fingers dialed 999 as he ran to Sherlock, shouting his name. No response. John put a trembling hand to Sherlock's neck to check for a pulse, releasing a breath when he found one. 

John's eyes roamed over his friend, assessing the details. Sherlock's left arm was at an odd angle, most likely broken. The rest of his limbs, though twisted, looked undamaged. But John couldn't tell if there was internal—or spinal—damage. 

The ambulance took forever to arrive. John hustled in the medical personnel and started directing them, not caring one whit whether they thought he was overstepping. The ride to A&E was tense and, on arrival, John was quickly shoved to the background.

He sat down to wait. 

John fiddled with his mobile, wondering if he should call Mycroft or Lestrade. Eventually, he decided to hold off until he knew more. His fists clenched and unclenched as people moved around him. 

Eventually, John was allowed to see Sherlock—or, rather, was begged to come pacify him. Sherlock had awoken and was pleased as ever to be in hospital.

A doctor and nurse tried to cast his left arm while Sherlock typed one-handed into a laptop on a table to his right.

"Where—?"

The nurse rolled her eyes. "It was the only way to shut him up."

Sherlock glanced over. "John. Perfect. Who was behind me before I went down the stairs?" 

John was caught flat-footed by the question. "No one. You lost your balance and fell forward."

Sherlock snorted disdainfully. "I did no such thing; I was pushed."

"Sherlock, there was no one else there."

"Exactly." Sherlock smiled.

***

"Tell me again why we're doing this?" John hauled another shovelful of dirt to the side. 

"My contact in the States informed me this is the only way to ensure a permanent resolution."

"Uh-huh." John must've sounded as skeptical as he felt because Sherlock and shot him an accusing glare.

"It's the only explanation that fits all of the evidence."

"You're barmy." John wasn't sure why he kept poking Sherlock. It's not as though John wasn't digging up a corpse as instructed. Sherlock's arm prevented him from helping—not that John thought their positions would have been any different had Sherlock been at full strength.

But at least this way Sherlock could be lookout...if he would get his face out of his mobile. 

"Sherlock," John hissed.

"Hmm?"

"Can you please make sure we don't get arrested?"

"Calm yourself, John. No one of any official capacity will be driving past this graveyard before four a.m."

John paused, shovel halfway out of the grave. "How do you know that?"

"From a...reliable...source."

John laughed, resuming his digging. "Mycroft knows about this?"

Sherlock stuck his nose back into his phone.

The shovel struck wood, and John cleared off the casket. He lifted the lid and levered out of the grave. Sherlock moved in, covered the corpse in salt and kerosene, then dropped a lit match.

Fire engulfed the body. There was a shriek, and then silence.

Flames reflected in Sherlock's eyes. "Interesting."

John groaned, wondering how many more nights he would spend molesting the dead before Sherlock became bored with the paranormal.


End file.
